


I’ll Try, Daddy

by MellarkandArt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Cutting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Self Harm, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellarkandArt/pseuds/MellarkandArt
Summary: promises are too easily broken - Daddy Charming
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	I’ll Try, Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains slight cursing, graphic self harm and sexual abuse. If you are triggered by this or don't feel comfortable reading this, turn away. I would love for people to read my stories but if you have an issue with these themes please do not read this story.
> 
> I’m new to AO3 and a bit nervous about this. I would deeply appreciate your reviews. :) I might be a little off on the dates as I haven't watched the show in awhile. This is not set in a certain season really, after season two or three, it doesn't really matter. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time, I'm just one of those people who writes Daddy Charming stories. The lyric "I think I am finally clean" belongs to Taylor Swift from her song Clean off her 2014 album 1989.

"Looks like we're done here, sweetheart," six year old Emma's foster father grins at her, zipping up his pants.

Emma tugs at her Minnie Mouse nightgown and nods. Shakily turning to walk out of the bedroom, her foster father tightly grabs her arm. "Remember, not a word."

Again she nods. No fighting, no screaming. Just do what he asks and you won't get in trouble.

Fourteen year old Emma flinches at the memory. Eight years and 53 sexual encounters later, that memory haunts her more than any. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first man to touch her where he shouldn't.

Covering her ears as if it will shut down her brain, she breathes unsteadily, trying to block out the details that are sketched into her memory forever. The way he pinned her to the bed, promising cookies and other treats if she did as he asked. Respect your foster parents, always do what they ask rings the voice of her social worker. That voice is what kept her from fighting, that and the strong hands on her body showing no mercy. "Come on, Emma, I'm not going to hurt you," the owner of the hands whispers, lifting up her nightgown.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, desperately trying to make the voices and images stop. "I can't do this anymore," she whispers to herself, sitting on the cold bathroom tile floor alone. She's so tired of fighting, tired of being strong when she was so weak inside. The memories get louder in her brain, graphic images dancin behind her eyes. What to do, what to do...

She opens her eyes and her foster brothers grey razor greets her.

She's had foster siblings who've done this. Marie said it took the pain away, but it wasn't enough in the end and she killed herself. Emma bites her lip. I'm not going to kill myself. I just need a quick fix.

And then that razor is sliding across her wrist.

"You don't have to do this to yourself, Baby," Neal whispers, lightly tracing the scars on seventeen year old Emma's thigh. She flinches slightly at the contact. "I have to," she whispers back. "You don't anymore. I promise I'll make the pain go away... please stop. It's not just you you're hurting anymore."

Sbe looks into his eyes and knows that he loves her. And she loves him. Maybe she doesn't need it anymore.

"I'll try," she whispers sincerely.

That was before he ran off with the watches. As the police officer slides the handcuffs on her wrist she wishes she could slide something different across them.

And that was before she knew she was pregnant. Although shocked and scared, she promised the little baby in her stomach that she would stay clean for him.

Giving up Henry was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She couldn't look at his little face. She just stared at the scars in her arms knowing she made the right decision. She couldn't be a mother. She didn't deserve his love, either.

She had kept her promise to the kid and stayed clean while she was pregnant with him. But after months of being clean, she didn't run to the blade. She felt okay. She was going to be okay. Once weak on the inside, she was now strong. She was going to fight.

I think I am finally clean

The present Emma remembers all of these things well. Clean for over ten years, she finds herself struggling with breathing once again. The battles are never over here in Storybrooke she inwardly chuckles.

Nothing had especially gone wrong today, but it's been a long time since anything had gone right. Fighting bad guys, having a relationship with Killian, trying to accept her parents, trying to be a mother...

it was all too much. Oh, those things weren't so bad alone. But those things together, topped with those past memories...

Nightmares had been an issue for Emma for as long as she could remember. The rush of the last few years had calmed them, the rare occasions in which she had them they weren't severe. Relief from a nightmare free sleep, something she'd been working towards for 28 years. Sweet relief.

Until last night's nightmare.

She awoke at 3:22 this morning in sweat after the dream, praying she didn't scream so her parents wouldn't hear her. The images had been in the back of her mind all day, swiftly being pushed aside with better thoughts. But now, as she sits in the floor in her room at her parents house, they come back to the surface more vivid than ever.

She sighs, tugging at the sleeves of her red leather jacket covering the scars. She'll never forget.

Never.

The realization that no matter where she goes in life, the horrors of her childhood will always stick with her is enough to send her into a panic.

His hands will always be in her in her mind.

When Killian touches her, she feels the sensation of their love but also a terrified need to run, because he's touching her. Hell, even when her parents touch her arm she flinches. She can't count the number of hurt expressions that have appeared on their faces because of her. She didn't mean to hurt them. If only they understood...

Emma starts to scratch at her hands with her fingernails, trying to make the thoughts stop. Calm down and you can go watch a movie or something with Mom and Dad downstairs she tells herself. But then, that stresses her more, as she just wants to be alone, she doesn't want to face her parents smiling faces, knowing that one day soon again they will be pained by her.

She slips her jacket off, revealing the scars she keeps hidden. Makeup with a tank top is the rule. Jacket any other time.

She stares at her nicely sliced wrists, knowing there's more on her thighs.

"Not enough," she mutters.

Her mind is slipping deep for the first time in years. It feels as if her sensible side is dead and there is just a broken woman looking for a blade.

She knows she didn't throw it out. She's been many places with few boxes but she knows that it was in one of them.

She looks through all her drawers until she finds it. A small silver knife rests in her sock drawer.

She breathes in it's scent, as if it had one. Years of being clean no longer mattered. This is what she needed. Emma had won a lot of battles with evil villains, but this was a battle she couldn't beat.

Stop fighting. No one cares anyway.

She slips into her bathroom and sinks to the floor. She looks for a clean spot on her arm and slowly sinks the blade in. Relief quickly washes over her, she sighs as the voices in her head start to slow. A small part of her mind is screaming THIS IS WRONG but it starts to fade as she slides across her skin again.

"I lost the battle," she whispers to herself, calmly accepting this. She no longer cares how many days she's been clean. The voices are starting to fade completely as she digs into her skin for the sixth time, until she hears a voice calling her name.

"Emma?" the voice of her father says louder.

Suddenly she is brought back to reality. Shit. She jumps up, turning in the sink water and stuffing the blade into the cabinet.

Blood, blood, blood

"Coming!" she responds to Charming in a panic, running water over her bleeding wrists. They don't seem to stop.

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine

"Emma?" says Charming very loud this time. I said I was coming, why is he yelling?She wonders in a hurry, glancing up at the mirror for a flash of a second before yelling back a response to him. But she doesn't respond to him now, she slowly lifts her eyes back up to the mirror and sees the shell shocked ghost white reflection of her father in the mirror.

This isn't happening.

He isn't supposed to see me like this.

Thinking quickly without really thinking, she slams the door shut with her foot.

No no no no.

This isn't happening. It's just a dream. A nightmare, actually.

She sinks against the wall back down to the floor. She tightly clutches a white hand towel she didn't realize she picked up. It's stained with blood from those damned wrists that won't stop bleeding.

"E-Emma?"

She's not breathing right, she knows. But is she sobbing? Why doesn't she know if she's sobbing? She must be, as she can feel tears in her cheeks. She's crying. Emma doesn't cry, Emma is strong. But Emma has never been caught cutting.

She shakes her head, looking at the blood stained towel. Emma isn't strong. Emma is the same weak girl she was the first time she cut.

She cries into her knees. She faintly hears the door squeak old , she slightly flinches when someone puts their arms around her. But she welcomes the arms, burying herself deeper into them, crying into his chest.

Charming is at a lost. His strong, beautiful baby girl was hurting herself, why, he wanted to ask. Doesn't she see she's amazing? He doesn't know what to do, all he can do is hold her.

Emma's sobbing subsides but she closes her eyes tighter, not wanting to reveal herself to reality, not wanting to have this conversation.

But after awhile, Charming speaks up.

"Baby..." she flinches at the name. Oh, the people who've called her that.

Charming struggles for words. A simple "why?" comes from his lips.

She tries to shrug but she can't really as he's holding her. Oh, Daddy, there are so many reasons why, so many things I can't tell you.

He senses her distress, but he can't let it go this time. "I want to help you," he whispers. "But I can't if I don't understand."

She bites her lip, struggling. "I can't," she whispers.

"Please, Emma."

She sighs, resting her head on his lap. "I just hurt all the time, Dad."

Charming feels his heart break into a million little pieces. This is all his fault. Who cares about the curse, Snow and he shouldn't have sent her out into this world alone.

"Why," he swallows hard, "do you hurt yourself?"

She looks down. "I haven't done it in ten years. I started when I was fourteen." She feels his chest tighten.

"Fourteen? I.. wh.." he stammers for words. She finds them for him. "Because... it makes the thoughts go away. The physical pain takes away the mental, if only for a moment. The memories, the things that he" -she hadn't meant to say that - "it just makes it hurt less," she says quickly trying to cover up what she said. But it was too late. "Who's "he"? What did he do?" Charming asks, feeling sick. He thinks he already knows the answer.

"Dad, I... I can't."

"Did... did he touch you?"

Emma softly nods, feeling self conscious and uncomfortable. But also a small sense of relief. She's never told anyone. Threats of what men said they'd do to her if she told come back to surface. Another tear escapes her eye.

"How old were you?" He whispers.

"Four, the first time."

"It was more than once?"

"Sixty seven times, eleven different guys," she says, slightly amazed and haunted that she'd kept track like that. The count had gone up from when she was fourteen. It would likely be even more if she hadn't of gotten out of the foster system. The first guy did it the most. His Cheshire Cat smile is the main character in her nightmares.

Charming feels very sick and very angry. Sixty seven times eleven filthy men harmed his baby girl. It all made sense now. The flinches from other's touch, the red leather jacket... why hadn't he realized before?

"Wha-," he begins to speak but Emma stops him. "Daddy," she says. Even in the despair, his heart skips a beat at this new name. She continues, "I just can't do this. I'm sorry, just, please, don't make me..."

"Emma, I'm not going to make you do or say anything. Just know that I'm here and I love you - actually, lots of people are here and love you - and I want to do everything in my power to help you," Charming says, slowly and gently turning her arm, allowing them both to see it. His breath hitches at the sight. Covered in old scars and six new, it's a proof of pain. And strength. Out of all these cuts, not one goes down. This arm proves she was brave enough to hold on even though she was hurting. But this arm also needs help.

"I don't want to tell you what to do," he says carefully, "but I don't want you to keep doing this. You are so beautiful. And strong in ways you'll never realize. But most of all, you are loved. I will try my best never to hurt you and I will always love you no matter what. You don't need to do this to yourself, Emma. Because you are worth so much. I want you to be clean without thinking about it. I want you to be happy. I want to help you stop this. If you stumble, I want to be the one to help you back up. I want to help you in any way I can but it's really up to you. I'm not going to force you into anything."

Emma looks at her scars full of misery. Then she looks at her father who has been there for her even when she didn't realize it. Who has loved her when she thought no one in the world loved her. She wants to feel this love, she wants to be happy. Self harm is a hard addiction to beat. But maybe she can do it. She sits up and hugs him, breathing in the scent of shaving cream on his neck.

"I'll try, Daddy."


End file.
